Not enough
by MelMey
Summary: It wasn't the return he expected, not at all. Sherlock is back from his mission to dismantle Moriarty's network. He is badly injured but he just want to be back with his best friend. But rejection leads to a chain reaction and Sherlock has to make a decision. Mentions of torture.
1. Chapter 1

**_Hi everybody, so this is my first fan fiction and I hope you will like it. I came up with the idea of taking certain elements form Season 3, Ep. 1 The Empty Hearse but then move on into a different direction._**

**_English isn't my mother tongue, so if you see any mistakes, please tell me. Other feedback is of course also very much appreciated._**

**_Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own Sherlock, I just like it and borrowed some scenes and some characters._**

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Prolog**

"You shouldn't leave the hospital yet" Mycroft spat out angry. "You are still sick, still injured."

Sherlock just gazed at him for a moment before he continued to button up his white shirt.

"Sherlock, please. Just once, could you be reasonable and take care of yourself." Mycroft continued with a more pleading tone in his voice.

"I can take care of myself." Sherlock replied with the calmest voice he was able to manage at the moment. "And I can best take care of myself at Baker Street with John by my side."

"John has moved out of Baker Street right after your funeral. He moved on. He has a girlfriend and if buying a diamond ring tells you anything he intends to marry her. So he surely will not move in with you tomorrow. But you will need someone to take care of the wounds on your back. They are far from healed."

"But I definitely don't have to stay in hospital for changing the bandages once a day."

"And your pneumonia isn't fully healed either"

"I know." Sherlock yelled, looking furiously at Mycroft, hardly been able to suppress a cough. "But I don't need to stay in hospital for that either. I certainly can take the remaining medication myself and as Doctor Nicholls told me this morning moderate exercise is not only allowed but recommend at this stage." Sherlock smiled and grabbed a small bag with different pillboxes and ointments just to show it to his brother.

"I am just worried" Mycroft stated tiredly, reckoning that he will lose this argument. "It is just two weeks since we got you out of" He stopped mid-sentence noticing Sherlock scowling at him.

Sherlock took his suit jacket from the hanger, carefully putting it on without wincing from the pain this movement triggered in is raw back. He bit his bottom lip.

"Where will I find John?" He asked softly.

"He reserved a table at a restaurant in the Marylebone Road. It is quite an expensive restaurant so I guess he will take Mary there." Mycroft replied.

"Very well, I will meet him there." Sherlock said cheerfully.

"You might not be welcomed." Mycroft warned him.

"I don't think so." Sherlock replied, sounding more confident than he actually was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He didn't expected this. Yes, Mycroft said he might not be welcomed. And yes, he had expected John to be angry, even to punch him, but only once and only lightly. Instead Sherlock got himself attacked three times. Two times John tackled him to the ground, causing him quite a sharp pain from the still healing wounds on his back despite the rather large dose of pain medication he just took an hour ago. He really had to use all his self control not to wince. And in the end John headbutted him, leaving him with a bleeding with a broken nose on the street, telling him to leave him alone before he wordlessly hailed a cab. Mary, John's fiancée, told him that she will talk to him. As the cab passed by John didn't even looked at him.

Sherlock was puzzled by the reunion that hadn't even closely went in any of the ways he had played it out in his mind. He just stayed at the same spot for couple of minutes not recognizing anything around him, not the people staring at him or the pain emanating from his back.

When he finally came out of his torpor his noose bleeding had stopped, thanks god, but felt a warm liquid running down his back, been soaked up by his sure not anymore white shirt. That was accompanied by a blazing pain. He was sure that he would need help with that. If some of the sutures were ripped open he would not be able to deal with that on his own. For a moment he thought about going to Baker Street next, hoping that at least Mrs. Hudson would be happy that he was alive. But asking her for help would be a bit not good. She would only be fussing about it and he was sure that she would also scream once she would notice the extent of the injuries he had acquired over the last two years. So, Molly was next. She was good at stitching wounds and she has already seen quite a number of his scars. She wouldn't be too shocked.

* * *

He was standing in front of St. Bart's. Oh, how he had missed it. He found Molly in the locker room. She was surprised, but happy to see him, slinging her arms around him.

"I need your help." He stated, trying not to wince as her hug caused his back to scream in pain.

"Please, don't say that you are going to die again." She replied, as his request obviously reminded her of the day of the fall when he asked her for help.

"I hope not." He smiled. "I went to see John and well, he wasn't really happy to see me. He was actually quite angry and attacked me. I probably need some stitches"

"You are that injured. He injured you?" She asked with astonishment in her voice.

"Not quite. I was already injured and I think when he tackled me to the ground some of the sutures on my back may have been torn." He tried to sound casual.

"Okay, let me see" She replied calmly and he immediately was grateful for her composure. She moved up to him, but he took a step away from her.

"Can we do it at your place?" He asked. "I don't want anybody to see it, to see me. I am still officially dead."

She looked at him, not quite sure what to make of his look that hinted embarrassment.

"Okay, I am finished here anyway. And I still have everything I need at home"

Sure she had, he thought. She had stitched him up a couple of times over the last two years.

* * *

Her flat still looked the same as six months ago when he last visited. Sherlock immediately dropped his coat on her sofa and got out of his jacket, just to hear her squeak behind his back.

So there must be quite a lot of blood on the shirt, he thought. What would she say when she sees the extent of damage that has been done. For one moment Sherlock regretted asking her for help. He could have gone back to the hospital where he stayed to the last two weeks after his brother got him out of Serbia. But the doctors there would only lecture him about leaving the hospital too early and about not being careful enough. And they would surely inform his brother about everything and that was the last thing he wanted. So he started to unbutton his shirt when he heard Molly looking for her medical supplies in the cupboard. He hesitated once more but finally taking his shirt off carefully. He looked at it for a moment, the whole back of it crimson red, gleaming in the light of her halogen spotlights. The next moment she was standing in front of him, looking at the shirt in his hands.

"You have to turn around. Sit down on that chair." She pointed at the chair beside her dinner table.

He nodded and took the few steps passing her when he again heard her squeak a little. He has seen his back in a mirror at the hospital and he was quite aware that it was all too obvious what has caused these kind of wounds. He wanted to say something, comfort her, tell her that it wasn't as bad as it looked, but he just didn't know how to say it. It would have been a lie anyway. Everything that came to his mind sounded wrong or pathetic. Thankfully she didn't say something either. She didn't even ask the obvious question of why he hasn't told John about his injuries. Instead she spread out her medical supplies on the dinner table, put on surgical gloves and carefully started to peal of the soaked dressings.

"It is only two of them that seemed to be open again. The other ones look sort of fine but I will put on new dressings anyway."

He just nodded. The next hour passed with her carefully injecting some local anesthetic before starting to stitch the gashes back together. He tried not to flinch when she cleaned all the wounds and he was relieved when she applied the new dressings.

"Anything else?" she asked nearly casually.

"No, I don't think so." He stated flatly.

"What about your wrists?" she said pointing to the skin-coloured dressings covering both writs. "Shall I put new dressings on those as well?"

"No, I think they are fine" But she had already grabbed his left wrist, making him flinch and in a reflex pulling his hand away. He cursed himself for this moment of loss of control, but she didn't say anything, pretended nothing had happened. For a few seconds they just looked each other in the eyes. Her brown eyes softly asking for permission. He tried to even out his breathing before he stretched out his arm for her to take and examine. She carefully took of the dressing and looked at the raw, still slightly infected flesh. But again she asked no questions and he couldn't feel less than grateful for that.

"I will put on an antibiotic ointment and new dressings." She explained before starting the procedure. "You've been to a doctor, right?" She inquired. "I mean the sutures on your back surely look professional."

"Yes." he said, nodding slightly.

"Did they gave you anything against the infection? The ones at the back look a little bit infected as well."

"They have. It is with my stuff that Mycroft will have delivered to Baker Street in the morning." It was one of the obligation for leaving the hospital earlier that he promised to take the meds regularly.

"And did they gave you something for the pain as well?"

He nodded again, feeling no need to further elaborate.

"If you want to stay …" she didn't need to finish that sentence.

"No, thanks, Molly. You've done more than enough. I just want to go home."

Now she just nodded. She understood his need to be back at Baker Street.

"Well, that shirt is ruined." She said with a mocking smile, pointing at the red and white fabric laying at her floor. "I still have some of your cloth that you left here the last time. I washed them." With that she moved to her bedroom just to return shortly afterwards with a black shirt in her hands.

"Thank you." Sherlock mumbled as he took the shirt and got dressed carefully. After he had put his coat on he turned to her again.

"I would be lost without you." He bent down to kiss her on the cheek and with that he left.

She closed the door behind him, leaned against it and sat down on the floor. He looked so sad, she thought. And what the hell had happened to him since she last saw him. She wanted to know. For a moment she thought about calling Mycroft, but she knew Sherlock would not approve that. "He will tell me, when he is ready." She said to herself, got up and started to clean the mess on her dinner table.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"At home, finally." With a sigh he entered Baker Street, hearing Mrs. Hudson washing the dishes. As expected she screamed quite loud when she finally saw him. But the next thing he felt was her arms tightly wrapped around him. That was the kind of reaction he wished for, but her embrace also hurt, reminding him again on the wounds on his back. So Sherlock carefully entangled himself from Mrs. Hudson, gave her a slight kiss on the cheek and a smile.

"You have a lot to explain young man." She said with the posture of a strict teacher.

"Yes, and I will, I promise." He answered softly.

"You look tired, and much too pale and way too thin." Her voice was caring now.

"Yes, I am tired. Let me get some sleep and I will explain everything to you tomorrow."

She nodded. He turned away and walked the seventeen steps up to his old flat. Soaking in the familiarity of the place he looked around, his eyes lingered on John's chair for a brief moment.

"Let me put on fresh sheets on your bed." He could hear Mrs. Hudson speaking while she was on her way to his bedroom. He took of his coat, put it on its usual hook at the door with a smile on his face. He then went to his desk and brushed the dust from the violin case. He opened it and took the instrument. It was out of tune but that was changed fast. He started playing intuitively, not stopping when he heard Mrs. Hudson behind his back. She listened to him playing for a while but then she left carefully closing the door behind her.

He played for quite some time before he finally had to admit that he really was tired and that his wrists were starting to hurt.

* * *

_He felt a chill on his bare torso. He felt the cuffs cutting in his already raw wrists. He heard the whip slicing through the air before he could feel it on his back. When the instrument made contact with his back it sent a flash of pain through his whole body. He was able to stifle the scream, at least for the first few strikes but once the whip has ripped opened his skin he couldn't hold it back anymore. His screams were greeted with a laugh and a "Finally" from his tormentor. And there it was again, the buzzing noise slicing through the cold air, announcing more pain. He knows screaming will not change anything, it will not make his tormentor stop the torture nor will it help him escape from this place. And it will also not bring in help, but he screamed with all the power he had in him after days of sleep deprivation and hunger._

He woke up in sweat, entangled in his sheets, a soothing voice was close by.

"It is okay. You are safe. You are at home. Baker Street." The voice said. He was disoriented and it took him a while to recognize that the voice belonged to Mrs. Hudson and that she stood beside his bed.

"It was just a nightmare, my dear." She said softly, coming closer now. She sat down on his bed, stroking his sweated curls.

He just looked at her, feeling a little bit embarrassed with no idea what to say. But he closed his eyes and let her comfort him.

"Oh, what have they done to you?" He heard her voice again.

He knew it was a question but he also knew that Mrs. Hudson would understand if he chooses not to answer it. So he just laid there, he felt her hands gently stroking his head and he allowed himself to fall asleep again.

* * *

The next morning he sat down in her kitchen, allowing her to force him to eat a complete English breakfast. She patiently listened to his explanation about how he faked his death, why he had to do it and why it took him so long to dismantle Moriarty's criminal web. She let out a whispered outcry when he told her about the snipers that were aiming at her, John and Lestrade. She didn't interrupt him once. Of course he skipped all the gruesome details, only vaguely hinting that he was injured a couple of times, totally skipping his time in Serbia. He knew that she had a hazy idea about it as she had seen the bandages on his wrists when his screams had woke her up just a few hours ago. Thankfully she didn't asked for details. When he had finished his explanation, she just stood up, walked around the table and pulled him into another hug.

"It is good to have you back. Everything is going to be okay."

He leaned into her hug, wanting to believe her words, but after yesterdays encounter with John he wasn't so sure. This intimate moment was abruptly stopped by a knock at the door. One of Mycroft's men delivered Sherlock's stuff, the medication as well as all the material concerning the predicted terrorist attack.

Starting work was a good, he thought. It would be a good distraction. He already worked on the case in the hospital just not to get too bored. He started looking through all the material. He pinned a map to the wall behind the sofa and placed all the different information on it. He disregarded the box with his personal stuff, knowing full well that his meds were in there. They would have to wait, he decided.

After putting up all the evidence on the wall behind the sofa he started to call a number of members of his homeless network. They would track some of his rats, his markers, for him. All that was left to do for him was to wait.

He decided to go out, to meet Lestrade next. Surely some cases, even if only cold cases, would be good to bridge the time until one of the rats would do something suspicious . And maybe an interesting case would be a good reason to contact John again. John, he thought, he missed him. He took a look in the mirror above the fire place. His broken nose looked okay, just small bruises had formed on both sides of the nose, nearly invisible. He had worse, he thought.

As his resurrection still wasn't official he had wait until Lestrade's shift was over. He sent a short message to Mycroft. He would be able to sent him Lestrade's work schedule. And as expected he got it in his inbox just a minute later. He was forced to wait for a couple of hours so he decided to turn to his beloved violin to take away the thoughts he didn't want to linger in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

In the evening he was standing in front of the apartment building. He has been here so many times. In his bad days, at the time he fought his drug abuse, he came here frequently, picking the lock to Lestrade's flat, waiting for him to come home, just so that he would not be alone. After some time Lestrade gave him a key. Greg had seen him at his worst, sure he would react differently than John, Sherlock tried to convince himself.

He went up, decided against ringing the doorbell, instead he used his old key. It still fitted. What he didn't expected was what came into view once he entered the living room. He saw not only Lestrade but also John and Sally Donovan. He sighed, that wasn't the way he wanted to meet Lestrade. He looked at them, not knowing what to say.

"Hi, freak." Donovan spat out. "Back from your big adventure?"

It wasn't exactly an adventure, he wanted to answer, but he couldn't speak. He didn't know what held him back. His silence seemed to encourage Donovan.

"John just told us how you found it funny to interrupt his proposal with your surprise comeback."

"That wasn't my intention." Sherlock stated quietly. He saw the angry look John gave him.

"So what exactly was your intention? Why did you come back after two years?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock sensed anger in his voice as well. This wasn't the reaction he expected from the DI.

"He probably got bored." John said viciously.

Sherlock just stared at him for a moment.

"No, I came back as soon as I could. Moriarty's web was bigger and more persistent than I expected it to be. It took longer to dismantle it." He said, trying to keep his voice calm, pushing away the tears that threatened to come up.

John snorted. Donovan let out a small laugh. Lestrade just looked at him doubtfully. Sherlock knew that he would need to explain everything to John and to Lestrade, but this, this felt like a trial with three biased judges. The feeling that he couldn't win crept up in his mind.

"Had fun doing it?" John interrupted his thoughts.

"Not really." Sherlock answered quietly.

"Not really? As if we can believe that. You get off on those things. That's your idea of a holiday, jetting around the world solving puzzles, probably killing people as well, right?" Sally's words were venomous. Sherlock had to put all his willpower into action not to flinch at her last sentence. He turned his view to John and Lestrade.

"Do you think that too?" He asked, trying not to show how hurt he was by what Sally just said, keeping his face blank.

He didn't got an answer. John just shrugged a little, Lestrade glared at him.

"I guess I should go." Sherlock waited a moment, hoping that either John or Lestrade would stop him, would ask him, what he had done and why he had to do it, but they didn't.

"Yes." John said firmly, while Lestrade just nodded slightly.

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Okay." He whispered and turned around and walked quickly towards the door, throwing his spare key for Lestrade's flat into the small bowl that stood on the table beside the entrance. He closed the door quietly behind him, suddenly sure that he would not return.

* * *

Back on the street he stopped. He didn't know what to do, what to feel. Everything was a blur, a big numb nothing. The next moment he felt like he had to vomit, nausea storming his senses. He inhaled the crisp evening air and started to head back to Baker Street. It was a long walk, but he didn't recognize anything, not the cold humid air, not the people he pumped into and the insults they threw back at him. In his head the other insults lingered. Sally's words. The way John and Lestrade looked at him and agreed to Sally's assessment. He was confused and hurt. Emotions. Maybe Mycroft was right. Caring really was a disadvantage. Caring got him into this mess. If he wouldn't have cared for anybody, Moriarty would have not had a chance to blackmail him. If he wouldn't have cared for his friend he would not have felt the need to come back, would have not longed to be back with his friends. Friends. He obviously has misjudged that. How could that happen, he thought.

When he finally reached Baker Street he shivered from the cold February air. Still deep in thought he opened the entrance door of 221 Baker Street, stepped inside and leaned against the wall. Images flashed his mind, thinking back of the time, when he and John came back from their first chase through the streets of London, out of breath and giggling. He couldn't help it, silent tears started streaming down his cheeks. He lowered himself to the ground, unable to move up to his flat. He closed his eyes and didn't even recognize that Mrs. Hudson approached him. He nearly hit her when he finally sensed a person getting close to him and the reflexes set in that were so useful during the last two years. Mrs. Hudson flinched back.

"Sorry, sorry." He mumbled. "Didn't want to"

"It is okay, nothing happened." She interrupted him with a warm voice. "What's the matter? Why are you crying?"

He couldn't answer. He felt ashamed, but he couldn't stop crying. He sobbed uncontrollable until he had to cough violently. Mrs. Hudson waited patiently, tapping him lightly on his shoulder.

"I think I lost my friends." He finally whispered.

"Who? And why?" She inquired.

"John and Lestrade. They don't understand. They don't want me back in their lives. They think I purposely hurt them, left them to have fun dismantling Moriarty's network. They don't want to know why and how. They hate me. I should have never come back. Caring is a disadvantage." He rambled fast and low, not taking a single breath in-between which led to another coughing fit interrupted by more sobbing.

"Get up." Mrs. Hudson said softly, reaching out to him with her hands.

He slowly got up only to be pulled in a tight embrace by the small woman. He let her. After all what had happened it felt good. He never was one who enjoyed physical contact. He simply wasn't used to it. Hugging as a mean of comfort was never much practiced in his family. He only remembered a few occasions and that was when he was a very small child. But right now, being hugged by Mrs. Hudson seemed to soothe the pain away.

After what felt like minutes Mrs. Hudson broke away and looked at him intensely.

"Everything is going to be alright. Give them time. They had suffered, especially John. He really mourned you deeply and was only able to move on after he had met Mary a couple of month ago. And now you are back. He probably just doesn't know what to make of it all."

He heard her voice, her words, but he didn't believe her. Nevertheless he nodded. He suddenly just wanted to go upstairs, go to bed, sleep and forget everything that has happened in the last two days. She let him go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_He heard him laugh. It was John, but his laugh was malicious. He was with him in the cell in Serbia, but not as the helpful hallucination that Sherlock knew so well and that had helped to survive the darkest moments. This time John stood beside his captor, dressed in a similar uniform, holding an electric cattle prod in his hand, smiling at him viciously. "Want to have some fun?" This was wrong. John wouldn't do that to him. He wasn't really there in Serbia. This must be a nightmare, I have to wake up. But he didn't wake up. Instead John came closer, whispering in his ear "Let's start", placing the picana at the raw flesh on his back. And then the pain set in, ripping through his body, the current forcing his muscles to spasm, his wrists tearing at the cuffs, the skin breaking, blood streaming down his arm. He heard himself screaming._

Again he woke up in sweat, entangled in his sheets. But this time there was no voice soothing him. He was alone in his bed. Breathing heavily he tried to calm himself down. "It was just a nightmare" He said to himself aloud, staring at the ceiling. He was so tired. His back hurt. He had to cough. He wanted to sleep, but he didn't dare to try it again, too afraid of another nightmare.

So instead he rose and went to the living room. He carefully grabbed his violin and started to play, a slow and sad melody, but he soon had to stop, his wrists hurting too much. He sighed. Not even this escape was possible anymore.

* * *

Days went by. Every night ended too early with a nightmare, Every night he re-experienced his confinement and the torture. But Sherlock was thankful that John wasn't part of the nightmares anymore. That one was more disturbing than any other before and afterwards. While he couldn't sleep Sherlock occupied himself with Mycroft's case, trying to find the terrorist and their target. Day after day he deleted one marker after another from his list until only one was left. Now he only had to find out what he was up to. An easy task, especially when Mycroft provided him with all his e-mails and messages. It took him one more day to discover the whereabouts of the bomb. Together with a team of Mycroft's men he searched the abandoned tube station for the bomb and subsequently stormed the hotel room of the terrorist watching his arrest. It was a great success but it didn't give Sherlock the high he usually got when he solved a case. He was exhausted, but he desperately tried to hide it from Mycroft who had shown up for the arrest.

"Congratulations." Mycroft said with a smirk. "Didn't expect anything else."

Sherlock just nodded and couldn't stop himself form coughing. He turned away so that his brother wouldn't see that he was in pain. But Mycroft caught his arm and stopped him.

"Everything okay, brother mine?" He whispered close to him, so that his men were not able to hear it.

"Of course." Sherlock answered with an annoyed undertone in his voice.

"Have you talked to John?" His brother inquired.

Sherlock just glared at his brother and freed his arm from his brother's grip and left.

He had not talked to John. After the gruesome meeting at Lestrade's flat Sherlock had hoped John would contact him. After a few days he has sent him a message "Let us talk. Let me explain – SH", but he didn't got reply. He has resent the same message a day later, but again got no reply. After that he tried to block out the thought of John. He then received a message from an unknown number – "Give him time – Mary". He had only met John's fiancée that evening and hadn't really talked to her, but he liked her and even at the end of that evening she promised him to talk to John. So Sherlock waited but John never answered, never showed up.

He was just back home when Molly showed up, seemingly worried because he hasn't answered any of her messages. He looked at her apologetically.

"Sorry, I had a case, an important investigation for Mycroft." He shrugged pointing to the wall where he had pinned the London map and all his hints.

"I was worried." She said accusingly. "Have you taken your meds? Changed the dressings?"

"Yes" He nodded. He still could lie without showing any emotion.

"You look awful, feverish." With that Molly moved up to him, clearly intending to put her hand against his forehead to feel his temperature. He backed away.

"I am fine, just exhausted from the case. But it is finished and I really would like to go to bed now. Can we talk another time?" He needed her to go away as he felt the urge to cough. He didn't wanted her to know how bad he felt.

She took another look at him, but seemed fine with his explanation and didn't pursue him any further.

"Have you talked to John?"

Why did everybody had to ask that questions today.

"No." He just stated calmly.

"He needs time, I guess." She said.

"Maybe" He shrugged. "Molly, please, I am really tired."

"Okay, please call me when you are better."

He nodded and she left his flat. Better, he thought, how to define better. When the fever will be gone. When John will talk to him again. When his back and his writs stopped throbbing. He felt on his bed, full well knowing that another nightmare would soon interrupt his sleep.

* * *

The next days passed by in a blur. He hardly got out of his bed, but he also hardly slept. Even when he slept some time without a nightmare he would wake up from the urge to cough. He tried to play the violin a couple of times but always had to stop when his wrists started throbbing. He tried to ignore the pain and the fever just as he ignored his phone, missing a couple of messages from his brother and Molly, but none from John or Lestrade.

One day he finally tried to change the bandages on his wounds. On his back he only managed to rip off the old ones. What he saw wasn't good, his skin was badly infected in several places. When he took of the old dressing the skin ripped open at a couple of sites. He knew it before. The pain had intensified over the last days and he has developed a fever. Molly was right, the fever had set in the evening she visited him, but he didn't care then. He still didn't care, but he finally started to take the antibiotics that he had eschew for too long. And he took the maximum dose of the painkiller they had given him. He knew that it was probably too little too late. The infection had already spread and the pneumonia had returned. The fewer has gotten worse every day. He knew full well that he needed to see a doctor, probably spent a couple of days in hospital, but he just couldn't convince himself to do so. And with Mrs. Hudson away to visit her sister there was nobody forcing him to take care of himself. So he just tried to ignore his needs.

It took a really bad fever spike and the fact that he was running out of painkillers to brace himself to ask for help. He called Molly who showed up just half an hour later. She was furious, but he was too ill to argue with her. He couldn't even prevent her from calling Mycroft. So just half an hour after Molly's arrival Dr. Nicholls appeared in his bedroom glaring at him reproachfully. She was his doctor from the military hospital where he has been treated after returning from Serbia. He said nothing. He just let her examine his wounds. After she took his temperature and listened to his breathing for a while he registered the worried look on her face. Molly just stood by the window looking equally worried.

"The infection has worsened. The pneumonia is back." She announced. "I'd rather take you back to the hospital."

"No, no hospital." He shook his head, while trying to sat up.

"Sherlock!" Molly clearly wanting to join the argument.

"No, no hospital." Sherlock interrupted her, gazing with a deadly look at both woman, trying to hide the throbbing pain in his back and stifling the urge to cough.

Dr. Nicholls sighed. "Okay, but only under my terms."

Sherlock looked at her expectantly.

"I will clean the wounds, get new dressings. You will have to take stronger antibiotics to be injected trice a day. I know you can do that yourself."

He wanted to protest.

"I wasn't finished, yet." She continued with a threatening voice. "You will also take the prescribed painkillers plus sleeping pills. You will do as your are told and rest. Molly will stay with you. If your fever rises or she detects any change for the worse or if you are not comply to what we agreed upon she will call me and I will force you to the hospital whether you like it or not."

She observed him with a quizzical look. He just nodded. Everything was better than being back in the hospital.

"So, let's get going" With that she indicated him to lay back down again. She started cleaning the wounds, putting new dressings on them. She got all the meds out, explained everything to him and to Molly before she left.

He was exhausted, but happy to be still at Baker Street. He watched Molly, who had taken a chair to sit beside his bed. She handed him one of the sleeping pills and a glass of water. He took it obediently. A night of sleep would be great, even if it was drug induced.

"You don't need to sit by my side while I sleep." He spoke softly. "I won't try to escape. I am way to weak for that and the sleeping pill will finish me off." He tried to smile.

"Since you are rather stupid I am not so sure about that." She replied mockingly, but she got up and walked out, stopping at the door. "I will sleep on the sofa then. If you need anything, just call out."

"You can use the bedroom upstairs." He avoided to call it John's bedroom.

"I am fine with the sofa." With that she left his bedroom.

"Molly." He called her. Her head appeared once more beside the doorframe.

"Thank you." He said already sleepy.

She nodded and left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"I haven't heard anything from Sherlock for a while." John sighed, sitting in Lestrade's office. He watched Lestrade writing some notes down.

"Are you worried?" Lestrade asks without looking up from his work.

"Yes, maybe I, maybe we have been too harsh. He sent me some messages, wanting to talk to me, wanting to explain everything. I just ignored them. Mary urged me to talk to him, but I just couldn't." John sighed again.

"Yeah, but he cannot just waltz back into our lives after faking his suicide and being away for two years and then expect that everything is okay and we just go on like nothing has happened." Lestrade looked up. "You are really worried?"

"And you are not?" John asked.

"A bit, maybe. He didn't ask for any cases, that is strange indeed. And he was rather quite when he came to my flat." Lestrade was lost in thought for a moment. "I would have expected an argument, that he would snap back."

Both men remained silent for a while.

"He might be using again." John said. It was rather a question than a statement. Now Lestrade worried as well.

"Might be. Maybe we should stage another drug bust." Lestrade sighed

"But just the two of us, nobody else." John said. "I still have a key for Baker Street."

"Okay, my shift ends in half an hour." Lestrade stated.

* * *

An hour later they were standing in front of Baker Street 221. They both took a short glance at the black car standing in front of it, but they went straight to the entrance door and upstairs, entering the empty living room. They could hear muffled voices from Sherlock's bedroom.

"Look" Lestrade said, pointing at the kitchen table. There was a package of one-way syringes and an opened, half emptied first-aid kid. John curiously looked at it. The voices from the bedroom got louder, two women. Lestrade and John moved forward to the bedroom when the door opened and Molly came out and instantly closed the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" She asked irritated.

"A drug bust." Lestrade answered.

"A drug bust? You both. That's a joke, isn't it." Her voice was bitter and angry.

"Is Sherlock in there?" John asked while trying to pass her. But Molly stood in the middle of the hall, arms stretched out to block his way.

"What is happening in there? Don't force me to push you away." John said threatening.

"You would do that, would you?" She looked at him, then at Lestrade.

At that moment the doorbell rang, Mrs. Hudson's voice could be heard downstairs and the noise from the stairwell announced people coming up to the flat.

John and Lestrade turned around, puzzled to see two paramedics with a stretcher approaching.

"Hello. Where is the patient?" One of them asked.

"He is in here" Molly answered opening the bedroom door, indicating them to go in, just to close the gap once they passed her, determined to prevent John from following them.

"Molly. What the hell is happening here? Has he overdosed?" John asked angrily.

"That is what you think, right? No, he hasn't used again. And you should leave." Molly replied with an angry voice.

John furiously pushed her aside and walked into bedroom just to witness how the paramedics carefully placed a pale, shivering and barley conscious Sherlock on the stretcher while a woman held up an infusion bag. John stared at Sherlock, immediately noticing his wrists as the paramedics carefully folded his arms over his torso. Both wrists were covered in thick white bandages.

"What is happening here?" John bellowed. "I am Dr. Watson, I am his doctor."

"I don't think so." The woman declared calmly. "My name is Dr. Nicholls and Mr. Holmes has been my patient for the past few weeks."

"What does he have?" John asked agitated, not able to calm himself down. "Where are you taking him?"

"I don't think I am entitled to tell you. You are neither family nor has Mr. Holmes instructed me that you are to be informed." She replied with an unperturbed voice. "Now please let us do our work. If you care for him you will not hinder us any further."

John stepped aside, watched as the paramedics took the stretcher with Sherlock and left the bedroom, Dr. Nicholls walked besides the stretcher.

Molly, John and Lestrade followed them downstairs, together with Mrs. Hudson they watched as the stretcher was put into the ambulance.

"Please, Molly, tell me, what is happening here? Did he try to kill himself?" John asked her pleadingly.

She just looked at him. "I can't, John, not after everything that has happened." With these words she grabbed Mrs. Hudson's hand and took her along to the black car waiting at the curb. Mrs. Hudson got in first.

"Please, he will need his best friend by his side." John said with a begging voice.

"Yes, he will need his best friend, but what makes you think, that that is still you." Molly spat out.

"Molly? Just tell us to which hospital they are taking him." Lestrade tried to stop her.

"I can't." She got into the car and it drove off into the same direction as the ambulance, leaving both men confused in front of 221 Baker Street.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

John and Lestrade wanted to go back to Scotland Yard. Lestrade convinced John that he might be able to locate Sherlock by calling the different hospitals from his office. Just as they starting looking for a cab another black car stopped in front of them. Anthea stepped out, looking at them with a blank expression on her face.

"I am ordered to fetch you." She said coolly.

Both men instantly got into the car. After a long ride the car approached a small unobtrusive brick building. Nothing indicating that it was a hospital. The car drove down to the basement car park. Anthea got out first the two men followed her. Once inside the building John recognized the smell. They definitely were in a hospital but he didn't have the faintest idea which one it was.

"Do you know where we are?" Lestrade whispered.

"No clue, but it seems to be a hospital." John whispered back.

They were led to a small room, an empty patient room with one bed covered with a protective foil. Anthea left and closed the door behind them.

"And now?" Lestrade asked. He walked up to the door and pushed the door handle only to discover that they were locked up.

"Now we wait for Mycroft." John answered, sitting down on the bed.

Outside it was already dark. They had to wait several hours before they heard the lock being opened. Mycroft and Molly appeared in the room. Mycroft was not spotting his usual unreadable blank expression but rather openly displayed his anger and concern. Molly looked equally angry, but her eyes were red, clearly indicating that she had been crying just minutes ago.

"How is Sherlock? What has happened?" John jumped from the bed.

"It is not your privilege to ask questions." Mycroft stated menacing. John stepped back a bit, looking confused first at Mycroft, then at Molly.

"The last time you saw Sherlock. What did you say to him?" Mycroft asked.

"What?" Both John and Lestrade asked simultaneously.

"You heard my question. Don't force me to repeat myself." Mycroft said in a low voice.

"Has he tried to kill himself?" John asked.

"Again, it is not your privilege to ask questions. But what makes you think, that that might have happened?" Mycroft asked annoyed.

John looked at him, realizing what Mycroft wanted to hear.

"The last time we saw Sherlock he came to Lestrade's flat. We" John hesitated, not knowing how to explain what had happened on that dreadful evening. He took a deep breath, but didn't have to finish the sentence as Lestrade stepped in.

"Donovan accused him of having fun dismantling Moriarty's network, that he didn't care for the ones he left behind." Lestrade said with a sad, defeated voice.

"And?" Mycroft asked.

"And we both didn't disagree with her and he just left." John admitted.

"That's what you think?" Molly yelled. She couldn't hide her anger. "You really think he was having fun the last two years? That he didn't care for you?"

"Molly, please." Mycroft said soothingly, placing one hand on her arm. She stopped and just stared at John and Lestrade.

"Did Sherlock tell you, why he had to dismantle Moriarty's web?" Mycroft asked.

"He told me that Moriarty had to be stopped." John said, looking rather confused.

"Nothing more?" Mycroft interrogated.

"No, nothing more. Well, he wanted to say more, but I was so angry at his antics that I hit him." John admitted quietly.

"And he didn't say anything to us when he was at my flat." Lestrade added.

Mycroft just nodded. "And you didn't ask, I guess."

John and Lestrade just shook their heads, realizing that they hadn't given Sherlock even the slightest chance to explain everything.

Mycroft turned his head to look at Molly. A look that lasted quite long. Then Molly nodded and both turned their heads to face John and Lestrade again.

"Sherlock is here in this hospital. He is in the ICU fighting a severe sepsis. He has high fevers, his heart rate is alarmingly high and his kidneys just started to fail. Right now the doctors will start dialysis to help him. They probably have to put him on ventilation soon as his oxygen saturation isn't good either. His pneumonia has returned and his breathing is rapid and too shallow. It doesn't look good. He might not survive the next days." Molly could hardly stop tears from spilling over, her voice getting shakier with every sentence. "I guess I don't have to explain the mortality rates of a septic shock to you, John."

John looked at her quizzical. "How could that happen?"

"How could that happen?" Mycroft spat out. "It happened because he was not having fun the last two years, because he got himself rather badly injured and because he didn't stay in hospital long enough, because he wanted to see his friends. The very same friends he saved by staging his suicide, because Moriarty had snipers aiming at both of you and at Mrs. Hudson. They would have killed you all in an instant if Sherlock wouldn't have jumped down from that roof. The same friends, that, with exception of Mrs. Hudson of course, greeted him rather unfriendly when he came back, even attacking him, while he was still healing from his latest ordeal, and accusing him of having done all of that just for fun, not giving him a chance to explain anything."

Mycroft's rant became more agitated with every sentence, while John and Lestrade just stood there, becoming more deflated with every sentence.

"What happened to him?" John managed to ask quietly.

"Over the last two years Sherlock chased not only the three snipers but also Moriarty's deputies, as he knew that they would execute Moriarty's will even after he shot himself in the head on that roof. When they would have found out that Sherlock has faked his death they would have hired new snipers to fulfill the order." Mycroft explained only a little calmer, looking at Molly when he had finished.

"Over the last two years Sherlock has been hurt a couple of times. Altogether he spent about five month in different hospitals or in safe houses around the world. He was nearly killed two times, he flatlined actually, once from a knife thrust in the thigh that nicked the arteria femoralis. He nearly bled to death." Molly explained flatly.

"That was in South America." Mycroft added. "The second time was in Australia. He was shot by a sniper, luckily a rather bad one. The bullet just grazed the lung, but nevertheless he nearly died back then as well."

John and Lestrade looked at them unbelievingly.

"The last deputy of Moriarty was in Serbia. Sherlock was able to infiltrate the organization, but then they got suspicious. They" Mycroft stopped his statement for a moment, biting his lips. "They started torturing him, wanting to know, who he was, what he was up to. Water boarding, electro-shocks, sleep deprivation, stress positions. The usual methods. Sherlock only gave away the name that we had given him as a panic code, thereby enabling us to find him, once his captors started to research that name. But it took us nearly three weeks to locate him." He stopped again, silence filled the room for a moment. "His captors got rather frustrated by him being so resilient. They started to proceed with rather old-fashioned methods of torture, obviously more for entertainment reasons than for getting information out of him. Beatings and whipping mostly. They didn't care for causing lasting injuries anymore, clearly having no intention in keeping him alive for much longer." Mycroft was visibly shaken by the account. "When we finally were able to locate him and managed to get him out he was in a very bad state. Several broken ribs, pneumonia, dehydrated and malnourished. Plus the gashes on his back and the torn skin on his wrists were deeply inflamed."

John started to cry silently. Lestrade gulped back upcoming bile.

"He stayed in this hospital just for two weeks. He insisted to leave it earlier then recommended, because he wanted to see you, John. So when you attacked him in the restaurant neither his ribs nor his back were properly healed. Some of the sutures were torn." Molly explained. "I stitched them back together. He was supposed to take antibiotics to fight of the remaining inflammation, but it seemed he didn't take care of that anymore after that evening at your flat, Greg."

"Mrs. Hudson told us, that after that evening he thought that he had lost his friends, that everything that he has been through in the last two years was useless, so he just ignored his body even more than he already usually does." Mycroft added.

"I, we" John started to speak, but he didn't know what to reply.

Lestrade just looked at the grey linoleum covered floor in front of his feet, also not being able to say anything.

"Can we see him?" John finally managed to whisper pleadingly.

"Yes." Mycroft said coolly. "You will see him, precisely you will stay in his room, sit in a corner and watch him. You will not get close to him or talk to him. You will just sit there and watch – either until he dies or until he wakes up and dismisses you."

With that Mycroft and Molly left the room, John and Lestrade followed them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

As they entered the ICU room the true scale of what they had just been told hit them with full force. Sherlock looked small and lost in the hospital bed. The heart monitor by his side showed a steady, but too fast heart beat. From his left arm two blood-filled tube ran down to the dialysis machine and back. An oxygen masked covered his mouth. His eyes fluttered lightly every now and then, indicating that he was somewhere in-between consciousness and unconsciousness. Little pearls of sweat on his forehead indicated a high fever, yet John noticed that Sherlock also shivered slightly. Nothing hinted of the great man he was, John thought. He looked so vulnerable, a number of tubes and cables attached to him.

Mycroft pointed to two chairs, placed at the far corner of the rather large room. John and Lestrade took them without saying a word. Mycroft then turned to Molly.

"I will stay here for the rest of the night. Go get some sleep. Mrs. Hudson just sent me a message that she will be here in morning." He spoke softly, his hand lightly padding her arm. "You should get some sleep. My driver will take you home and he will pick you up tomorrow. I already cleared your schedule at St. Barth's for the whole week." Molly wanted to protest, but Mycroft shushed her. "If his condition worsens I will contact you."

Molly nodded and left the room, while Mycroft moved a chair close to Sherlock's bed. He sat down and placed his hand on that of his brother. No one spoke a word, the constant beep of the heart monitor was the only noise filling the room.

* * *

Early in the next morning two nurses came into the room.

"Sorry to disturb you." One of the nurses stated, clearly addressing Mycroft, ignoring John and Lestrade. "We have to clean his wounds again and change the dressings."

"We could leave." Lestrade said.

"You will stay." Mycroft answered harshly without looking at them while he moved his chair out of the way.

The two nurses started the procedure, carefully turning Sherlock's limp body on the side. They removed the bandages, exposing the still inflamed gashes on his back. John looked at them with a pained expression on his face while Lestrade after taking only a short glance turned his eyes to the floor.

* * *

The following day John and Lestrade watched their friend, not daring to speak to each other. They were brought fresh clothes and shown to a room where they could shower and change and where they were catered some simple food. They didn't talk much during this breaks away from Sherlock.

"We really messed this up, didn't we?" Lestrade finally asked.

"Yes." John answered. There wasn't much more to say.

The breaks were only short. Mycroft made it quite clear that he expected them to spent most of the time in Sherlock's room. But they were not the only ones. Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson and Molly took a turn sitting by his bed, holding his hand. Neither of them spoke a single word to John or Lestrade.

Sherlock stayed mostly unconscious and even when he was somewhere close to consciousness his awareness seemed to be limited to the person sitting directly by his bed. He didn't seem to recognize the two men in the corner of the room, never turned his head in their direction. But most of the time he was asleep anyway, sometimes stirring slightly under his sheet.

* * *

_He was back in the cell again. He shivered and sweated at the same time. He felt the whip slashing through the skin on his back and almost simultaneously the fists connected with his ribs. Pain was everywhere. He felt blood running down his back and his arms. Pain, only pain, running through every bone like an avalanche. He couldn't focus, could not see his tormentor, he just felt the pain, in every inch of his body. But then, in the next moment he felt how they held him down on that table, forcing his head down, pouring water onto his face, making him gag. He suffocated and slowly everything faded away, his world turned black._

The heart monitor woke them up with a irregular fast beeping that set of the alarm. Mycroft whose turn it was to sit by Sherlock's bedside jumped of his chair, knocking it over. Two doctors and several nurses rushed into the room just in the very moment when the heart monitor changed to one constant beep, indicating that the patient just flatlined. Mycroft, John and Lestrade watched terrified as the medical team started to perform CPR.

It took long, too long, John thought, until Sherlock's heart started to beat again. He now was intubated, a tube exited his mouth taped into place along his pale cheek. The tube was attached to the ventilator and the rhythmic noise of the machine filled the room alongside the beeping of the heart monitor for the next days.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The chances to survive a sepsis are not good. Sherlock did survive. It took more than a week until he was conscious enough to start reacting against the ventilation. Molly was at his side at that time, trying immediately to sooth him.

"Hi Sherlock. You are safe. It is okay, don't fight it. The tube is from the ventilation, helping you to breath."

She pressed the button calling the nurse who herself rushed to get a doctor.

John and Lestrade restlessly wriggled about on their chairs. They witnessed the pain and the panic in Sherlock's face as he kept fighting against the tube. Molly had to forcefully press his arms down. Then Dr. Nicholls entered the room, she soothingly talked to him and finally was able to calm him down. Sherlock had to cough for her to pull out the tube which obviously caused more pain. He looked exhausted. The doctor attached a nasal oxygen cannula. Neither John nor Lestrade did dare to get up from their chairs, but they recognize the short glance Sherlock casted in their direction before he turned his head to face Molly. They couldn't hear the words the exchanged.

"What are they doing here?" He asked her very quietly, but those few words already forced him to take a deeper breath which led to a coughing fit triggering a suffocating pain in his ribcage.

Molly sat down on the chair beside his bed, taking his hand in hers and slight leaning forward.

"You shouldn't talk too much. Try to breath evenly. Your throat will hurt for a while. You have been intubated for nearly a week." She turned his pain medication up a bit and he felt the pain ebbing away immediately. After a small pause she added "Mycroft forced them to be here, to watch you."

Sherlock looked at her quizzical. "Why?"

"Because they hurt you." She paused for a moment before continuing as she detected the confusion in Sherlock's look. "Mycroft, and well, myself and Mrs. Hudson, we think that they are the cause for your deteriorating health, that they are the reason you stopped taking care of yourself."

Sherlock sighed, taking another short glance at John and Lestrade who looked expectantly into his direction.

"Mycroft wanted them to watch me?" He asked, his voice raw and confused.

"You nearly died, again." Molly replied. "You had a full-blown sepsis, your kidneys weren't working anymore, the pneumonia nearly killed you. You flatlined. They had to ventilate you. You've been unconscious for over a week."

"He wanted them to watch me die?" He still couldn't quite understand why his brother forced Lestrade and John to stay with him.

"Yes." Molly confirmed. "They should see that you suffered in the last years as well. He wanted them to see that they caused you to suffer even more. He told them to sit in that corner either until you die or until you dismiss them."

Sherlock nodded, but he was still confused by what he just heard from Molly.

"Did Mycroft tell them anything?" He asked his voice barely able to pronounce those words as he had to cough again. When the coughing fit ended he took another short glance at both men.

Molly brought a glass of water with a straw. "Drink something." She ordered and he obeyed, carefully sipping a little bit of the water, relaxing as the cold liquid soothed his hurting throat.

"You mean in regards of what happened to you in the last two years and why you stayed away so long?" Molly asked, not waiting for an answer. "Yes, Mycroft and myself told them quite a bit. They didn't gave you the chance to explain so we felt we should do it. They were rather shocked."

Sherlock nodded again, trying to process what he had just heard.

"Tell them to leave." He whispered while trying to stifle another coughing fit.

Now Molly just nodded. She got up slowly, took another look at Sherlock, gently pushing one errant black curl from his face. Then she walked up to John and Lestrade.

"He wants you to leave." She said curtly.

"Let me talk to him." John pleaded, but Molly just shook her head.

"He wants you to leave." She repeated, placing herself between the two men and the bed with Sherlock, her hand gesturing to the door.

John looked at Sherlock, hoping that he would turn his head and face him, but Sherlock had turned his head away and closed his eyes. John sighted.

"Leave, now." Molly said angry and John and Lestrade left the room.

Molly went back to Sherlock's side, again placing her hand on his.

"They are gone." She whispered softly.

He opened his eyes gazing at her. "Thank you."

"You should rest. You are still very sick. Try to sleep."

"Will you stay?" He asked, sounding a bit like a frightened child.

"Yes, of course." Molly stated firmly. "Mycroft will surely be here soon as well. Dr. Nicholls will have called him, informing him that you are awake. He really was deeply worried. He stayed with you every night the last week."

Sherlock looked at her with an even more confused expression.

"He loves you." Molly stated plainly.

Sherlock looked at her unbelievingly. He didn't expected his brother to keep vigil over him. And he definitely didn't expected him to force John and Lestrade to be here all the time, to watch him suffer, to watch him die. Was it a sort of retribution? He couldn't quite grasp what his brother intended with this action, but he was too tired to explore those thoughts.

"Are you in pain?" He heard Molly asking. "We can increase the dose of painkillers."

He shook his head and closed his eyes while intertwining his fingers with hers, giving her hand a slight squeeze before he felt asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

He had no idea how long he had been sleeping, but when he opened his eyes it wasn't Molly's face that he saw. Instead he saw his brother, asleep, sitting on the chair Molly had used before. And like Molly his brother held his hand. Sherlock gazed at his brother, wondering why he was holding his hand. But he had to admit to himself that the idea of his brother keeping vigil by his side was strangely reassuring. As Sherlock tried to move his hand a little bit his brother woke up.

"You are awake." Mycroft stated.

"As are you." Sherlock replied with a smile, his voice still raspy.

Mycroft smiled. "You must be feeling better when you are already able to mock me."

"Slightly." Sherlock replied, breathing in deeply which triggered a bad coughing fit. He only just noticed the panic expression on his brothers face and how he wanted to press the alarm button to call a nurse. Sherlock just managed to stop him by placing his hand on his brother's arm. Mycroft hesitated, clearly not convinced that he shouldn't call for help, but he waited. Finally the coughing stopped, Sherlock was gasping for air, still keeping his hand on his brother's arm.

"It is okay." He whispered, trying to breath evenly.

"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock just nodded. For a few minutes neither of them said a word.

"Why did you do it?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Mycroft asked, but Sherlock just frowned.

"Oh, you mean, why I forced John and Lestrade to sit in your room for the past week? Molly told me you dismissed them." Mycroft replied. "I wanted them to see."

Sherlock frowned again, indicating that he wasn't satisfied with that explanation. Mycroft sighed and looked at him for a moment before he continued. "I thought Molly had explained it to you already."

"I want to hear it from you." Sherlock stated plainly.

"I wanted them to see what there unsuitable reaction to your return had caused." Mycroft explained and as he noticed that Sherlock wanted to object he hastily added "I wanted them to see that you suffered. I wanted them to understand what you've been through, for them, to keep them safe. I wanted them to regret what they said to you, how they had treated you."

Sherlock gazed at his brother trying to understand what he had just said. Recognizing that his brother waited for a sign of agreement or disagreement he just nodded.

There was another moment of silence.

"You shouldn't have done that." Sherlock finally said. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, clearly disagreeing.

"But thank you." Sherlock added. He wouldn't ever had that kind of idea, but he had to admitted that he liked it. Well, not as an retribution for John and Lestrade. He liked it, because it showed how much Mycroft cared, but not in the annoying way he usually did, but in a rather genuine way. When Sherlock had noticed Mycroft presence in that cell in Serbia he was confused why his brother risked infiltrating the fortress himself. He despised legwork. And then he was even more confused when Mycroft didn't immediately stepped in but rather watched when one of his captors beat him up even more, breaking some more ribs. Back in England Mycroft explained that he couldn't give himself away at that moment without risking the whole operation, stating that they wouldn't have been able to escape safely when he would have stepped in too early.

And now, now Mycroft was by his side, holding his hand. He had been by his side all the time.

Both men stayed silent and Sherlock slowly drifted away again.

* * *

Over the next couple of days Sherlock slowly got better, he still was a little feverish, he still had severe coughing fits and he still needed high doses of painkillers and antibiotics. But he felt better. And he was amazed at the persistence of his regular visitors to stay by his side – Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft. Molly tried to entertain him with some stories of bizarre case from the morgue. Mrs. Hudson brought in an endless stream of home-baked scones, biscuits and cakes, very much to the delight of Mycroft who even endured Sherlock's mocking without snapping back.

One day Mycroft brought Sherlock his computer and his phone. He had been asking for them a couple of times but everybody agreed that he was too weak and should focus on resting and gaining his strength. So when Mycroft finally handed them to Sherlock he couldn't hide a pleased smile. He turned on his phone, just to find dozens of messages both from John and Lestrade, pleading him to let them visit him, wanting to talk to him. Lestrade offered him some cold cases against the hospital boredom. Sherlock frowned.

"They want to get in touch with you. They contacted us as well, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and at the beginning me as well." Mycroft stated. "We told them that you would contact them if you wanted them to visit you." He observed Sherlock who still stared at the messages. "We thought it was better to keep that" Mycroft hesitated for a second. " that problem from you for a while, until you got better. And since you haven't asked and didn't even mention them we thought that would be okay."

Sherlock heard the unusual apologetic tone in his brother's voice. He looked up from his phone to meet his brother's eyes.

"It is okay. I don't know what to do yet anyway" And that was true. He had pushed every thought about John and Lestrade away the last few days. He also pushed away every thought about what to do when he was allowed to leave the hospital. And with either his visitors constantly around or doctors and nurses fussing about him it was easy to push those thoughts away even though he was quite aware that he had to think about all that one day. When he was in this hospital for the first time, right after he was rescued from that Serbian cell he was so sure that he could return to the life he had before Moriarty forced him into this mess. He was so sure that he would work as a consulting detective again, that John would be his friend and would still want to accompany him to crime scenes. Even after Mycroft had told him that John was dating someone called Mary and that it was a serious thing, even then, Sherlock was still sure that he could reinstall is former life. But now, after everything that had happened, he wasn't even sure if he wanted that anymore, even if John and Lestrade would now want him back.

Mycroft obviously sensed Sherlock's train of thoughts.

"You don't have to talk to them." He said carefully.

"I know." Sherlock answered. "I will have to think about it."

"I will leave you to do that." And with that Mycroft left his room. Sherlock turned his attention back to the phone, flipping through every message John and Lestrade had sent him. Some of them were quite pleading. Most of them contained some kind of apology. If they just had know. Yes, that would have obviously changed everything. If they had known that he had been injured they would have behaved differently. That thought shocked and appalled Sherlock. At the same time he came to the realization that he would have to talk to them and that postponing it wouldn't make it easier. He would start with John.

"You can visit me tomorrow afternoon – SH" Sherlock hesitated a moment but pushed the send button on his phone. Tomorrow he would listen to what John had to tell him and then he would make a decision.

He send another message to Molly who was scheduled to visit him tomorrow afternoon. He needed time alone with John, but he asked her to visit him in the evening. He had to smile as he realized that he not only got used to her presence, but that he would miss her if he wouldn't see her every day.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The next afternoon came faster than Sherlock expected as he has slept nearly all morning. He was surprised that he hadn't spend much time thinking about what he would say to John. Just after lunch time two nurses came in. He had totally forgotten that they would have come to change the dressing on his much too slow healing wounds. He sighted and let them do their work. They always started by cleaning the wounds which was usually accompanied by a burning pain that would last for quite some time. He usually couldn't lay on his back for an hour or two after they were finished and every movement caused more pain. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to asked John to come by in the afternoon. He didn't mind Molly seeing him in that state of pain but he wasn't quite sure if he wanted John to see it. But it was too late to change the appointment anything. So he just hissed as the nurses started to clean the wounds on his back when he heard a knock at the door.

"That is somebody who wants to visit me. Could you please tell him to wait until you are finished." He asked the nurses under his breath. He heard one of the nurses moving to the door and heard her talking quietly outside.

When the nurses had finished their work they helped him adjust to a less painful position, lying on his left side, facing the window. He didn't have to wait long. He heard another knock and John entered the room. From the way he walked Sherlock concluded that he was insecure. Sherlock didn't move, trying to breath evenly and force the pain from his mind.

"Sherlock?" John asked hesitantly.

"I am awake." Sherlock replied flatly.

John moved around the bed and sat down on the chair beside the bed.

"Are you okay?" John asked, cursing himself for that stupid question.

Sherlock didn't answer, just gazed at him intently.

"Of course you are not okay. Sorry, stupid question." John went on. "I am really sorry. I don't know what to say."

There was a moment of silence, but Sherlock was reluctant to break it.

"If I had known." John resumed.

"If you had known what?" Sherlock asked.

"If I had known that you have been hurt."

"Then you would not have attacked me? Thrice?" Sherlock try to hide his anger.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." John couldn't stand Sherlock's gaze any longer and just looked at the floor.

"You broke my nose and left me standing bleeding on the pavement." Sherlock stated plainly.

"I was just so angry. I lost control. If I would have known what had happened to you in those two years and that you were still injured when you came to meet me I would surely not have done anything like that."

"You would have welcomed me back if you would have known?" Sherlock inquired.

"Sure, I" But Sherlock didn't let John finished.

"But I started to explain to you that I needed to dismantle Moriarty's web and you didn't even let me finish my explanation."

"I am sorry, but I" Again Sherlock interrupted John

"You couldn't imagine that dismantling a criminal network was dangerous." His voice was mockingly.

"No, it is just, you were so vibrant, so enthusiastic as you started to explain, it just put me off." John tried to defend himself.

"It put you off? I was vibrant, because I was back, back in London, back with my best friend, that was at least what I thought you were." Sherlock spat out.

"I was, I am, I" John stuttered.

"Let me get back to the point we started with. I should have told you first that I was injured and then you would have welcomed me back. Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why? What difference does it make for you if I had been injured in those two years or not?" Sherlock inquired.

"It makes a difference. It shows your sacrifice." John answered.

"My sacrifice? So if I would have been able to dismantle Moriarty's web without receiving a single scratch then those two years would not have been a sacrifice? Then it would have been fun? But because I got injured you judge my actions differently? Did I get that right?" Sherlock was angry, but tried to stay calm.

John didn't answer but looked up. Several times he opened his mouth, just about to say something, but he seemed unable to form words.

"You see, John, that is the crucial point. I had no intention to tell you what happened to me in those two years, not on that evening anyway. I wanted to explain you everything, how I did it, why I had to do it, about the snipers, about Moriarty's deputies, why it took so long to get rid of anybody who was a threat to you, to Lestrade and to Mrs. Hudson. But I didn't intend to tell you about my injuries, about what happened to me in Serbia, not then, maybe in a few weeks, maybe never." Sherlock paused for a moment, watching John before he resumed. "You want to know why? Because it isn't important, not for me anyway. It was necessary to take risks and it was unfortunate that on some occasions I was injured and that on one occasion I was even captured and tortured. But that isn't the point. It doesn't change anything. I still faked my suicide. I wanted to keep you save and I still think what I did was the only feasible option. And didn't anticipated that it would hurt you so much, I am sorry for that. But I wanted to keep you safe. And I am not sorry for that." He paused again. "But for you the fact that I was hurt changes everything. If I would not have been hurt, if you would not have known about what happened in Serbia, if Mycroft would not have forced you to watch me nearly die in this hospital bed, then you would still be angry with me, you would condemn my actions, you would still think I did it for fun, you would not forgive me."

"No." John interrupted.

"No? Honestly?" Sherlock asked, gazing at John, who didn't know what to answered and who got up and started to pace up and down the room.

"Honestly." He finally said. "Yes, I would judge your actions differently. I suffered. I broke apart when you forced me to watch you jump down that damn roof."

"I didn't force you to watch. The call that Mrs. Hudson was injured. I wanted you away from St. Barth's. I didn't want you watch it."

John had stopped pacing and stared at Sherlock who continued.

"And I was telling you that it was a trick, a magic trick. I knew that they bugged my phone and that I couldn't tell you the truth, but I hoped that you would take the hint and realize what was going on. But it doesn't matter, or does it? You are not willing to forgive me for what I have done. You don't believe me that my way was the only option I had. But because you now know that I have been hurt, that I have been tortured, that I nearly died you think we are even. My pain equals your pain. But that is not enough, not for me anyway." Sherlock said angrily.

John wanted to say something but again he didn't know what to say.

"I guess it is better if you would leave now." Sherlock said, closing his eyes.

John moved forward, closer to the bed.

"Sherlock." he stated weakly.

"I am tired, John. Please." Sherlock didn't open his eyes. If it wasn't for the throbbing pain of his back wounds he would have turned around.

"Sherlock? Can I visit you again?" John asked sadly.

"I don't know. I will let you know."

John left without another word.

* * *

Sherlock sighted. He cannot say that he didn't expected this kind of conversation, but it left him hollow and numb. He truly lost his best friend, that was the only thought that was left in his mind. But it was different now. When he came to the same realization after that dreadful evening when he met John at Lestrade's flat, he wasn't shattered by this insight anymore. He just observed it like some evidence at a crime scene, storing it in his mind palace in order to put every little piece of the puzzle together late on. He was surprised by this approach, but there was also a hint of relieve. Just then he heard a knock at the door and Molly entered his room. He noticed her light and swinging steps as she came closer.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" Molly asked cautiously.

"Yes, Molly. I am okay." Sherlock said with a small smile on his lips. "Sit down."

"Did you talk to John? I saw him on my way up, but he didn't look at me. He seemed lost in thought." She stated slightly confused.

"Yes, we talked, but I would rather not talk about that now. But believe me, I am fine. Just my back still hurts, because they cleaned the wounds again this afternoon. I hate that." Sherlock smiled at her.

"I can imagine that." Molly said. She knew it would be better not to press Sherlock to talk about John. Besides she noticed full well that his smile was genuine and that in comparison to John he looked rather content. So she rather took his hand in her hand as she had done so every day since he was admitted into hospital and then she started to talk about her day and about her work. He listened attentively and every now and again he hummed softly while slowly caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. After a while they just stayed silent, watching each other and keep their hands close together. He never yearned to touch her in the past, but over the last two years she had taken care of him so often, seeing him in some of his worst states. She was his life anchor whenever he felt lost. And during the last weeks her hand in his hand was a soothing constant in his existence, one he didn't want to miss. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with this new found yearning once he would leave the hospital, but he was quite sure his mind would come up with a solution. So right now he just allowed himself to enjoy this closeness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Once Molly had left Sherlock waited eagerly for his brother to turn up. He still visited him every evening albeit he didn't stay all night anymore. Sherlock didn't have to wait too long. His brother entered the room with his usual confident stride and a blank face.

"Hello, brother mine" He said.

"Hello, Mycroft. Want some fruit cake. Mrs. Hudson baked some this morning. There is plenty left over." Sherlock said smiling at his brother.

Mycroft took a look at the cake, seemed tempted for a moment, but shook his head and sat down beside the bed.

"How was your talk with John?" Mycroft asked fixing his eyes on Sherlock.

"As expected." Sherlock answered curtly.

"No, happy reunion?"

"No, not really."

"But you seem to be okay with that." Mycroft said. It was a statement, but he made it sound like a question.

"Yes, it may seem strange, but I am okay with it." Sherlock stated quietly, lost in thought for a moment. "Mycroft, I wanted to ask you for a favor."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He just didn't expected his brother to ask for a favor, well to ask if he can ask for a favor. Usually he would just bluntly demand whatever he needed. But Mycroft nodded, waiting for Sherlock to elaborate.

"I made a decision." Sherlock began. "For the time when I can leave this stupid hospital. Oh, don't worry, I will stay here until the doctors think it is fine to go. I will not make the same mistake twice. No, but I came to the conclusion that I will not work as a consulting detective for the Yard anymore. I cannot go back to that. It's a thing of the past. I realized I cannot resurrect the past."

Mycroft listened and nodded. "So what do you want to do instead?"

"You know." Sherlock said

"I can guess."

"You never guess."

"No, I don't." Mycroft said with a smile. "Maybe I just want you to say it."

"I will take the job you offered me years ago. If it is still available." Sherlock said, not smiling, but intensely focusing on his brother's expression.

"MI6?"

"Did you offer me any other jobs years ago?"

"No."

Sherlock waited.

"Okay." Mycroft said. "I think that can be arranged. Your work in the last two years should serve as a good application. Are you sure that is what you want?"

"You know my brain will rot if I don't find something to occupy my mind." Sherlock said plainly "And as you just said, the last two years I have been working that way anyway. And by the way, that is what I want. I want to work alone, not in a team of stupid minions."

Mycroft laughed quietly. "I thought so. Anything else would be unimaginable."

Now Sherlock laughed quietly as well, smiling at his brother.

"But first you have to get fit again." Mycroft stated, sounding like their mother when she was angry with their boys.

"I will." Sherlock answered, still smiling. "Until then, do you have any work I can do while I am confined to this boring hospital room? My brain is starting to rot."

"I will find you something." Mycroft assured his brother.

"Thanks."

"Will we be that friendly to each other from now on?" Mycroft asked.

"Oh, don't get too used to it. As soon as I am fit enough we can start bickering again."

"Good. I miss it a little bit."

Both brothers smiled fondly at each other, knowing that the last few weeks have changed their relationship forever and while they still liked to tease each other and bicker, there was a new warmth and a new understanding between them.

* * *

Sherlock sent Lestrade a message once Mycroft had left. He offered him to come to visit him in the morning. He definitely wanted to get over with this. As expected Lestrade replied within seconds stating that he will be there in the morning.

Lestrade was nervous as he entered the hospital. He had talked to John last evening when the message from Sherlock popped up on his phone. John had told him about his meeting with Sherlock and that really wasn't very encouraging. But Lestrade knew that there would be no way to get around this meeting and that postponing it wouldn't make things better.

When he entered the room Sherlock was sitting upright in his bed, still attached to an IV line, to an oxygen cannula and to the heart monitor. But he looked definitely better and was typing vigorously on his computer. He just shortly glanced to Lestrade. "Greg, come in, have a seat. I will be with you in a second." Sherlock murmured.

Lestrade sat down beside the bed, watching Sherlock typing until he closed the computer and put it on the table beside the bed, a movement that obviously caused Sherlock pain. Lestrade got up in an instant wanting to assist Sherlock.

"Thanks, but it is fine." Sherlock stopped him.

Lestrade sat down, waiting for Sherlock to start the conversation as he had no idea what to say, even though he knew he would have and he wanted to apologize for what he said to him that one evening in his flat.

Sherlock sensed that Lestrade wanted him to start by saying something but he didn't hurry to fulfill that wish. Instead he gazed at Lestrade, taking in every insecurity that was displayed in the features of the DI.

"Sherlock." Lestrade began, unable to endure the silence any longer. "I am sorry for everything I said that evening when you returned and for all the things I didn't say, for not giving you a chance to explain."

Sherlock nodded. He was expecting this apology, but he didn't want to except it verbally. The images and words from that evening in Lestrade's flat still lingered prominently in his mind and they still hurt.

There were minutes of silence again before Sherlock started to talk.

"Greg, I asked you to come by, because I wanted to tell you some things. First, I didn't agree with my brothers actions. He had no right to tell you those things and to force you and John to stay here and watch me. It wasn't something I wanted him to do and it is definitely not something I wanted you to know and to witness. I know you have spoken with John before you came here, probably yesterday evening."

Sherlock paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction. Lestrade nodded and just wanted to say something but Sherlock shushed him and continued.

"Then I don't have to repeat those things. The second reason I asked you come by is in regard of my work. In some of your messages you offered me to bring along some cold cases so that I don't get too bored here. Your offer implies that you expect me to work as a consulting detective for the Yard again. Thanks for that offer."

Lestrade nodded and his face brightened up with the hope that he would be able to restore his relationship with the young man.

"It is an offer I will have to decline. I will not resume my past work. You all have moved on and so will I." Sherlock stated calmly while observing Lestrade's reaction. The DI shrank before his eyes. He definitely hadn't expected this turn of events.

"But what will you do instead?" Lestrade asked.

"I already found another job?" Sherlock replied.

"What kind of job?" Lestrade inquired.

"That is not your concern." Sherlock answered firmly.

"So you burn all bridges behind you?" Lestrade asked, not able to hide his disappointment.

"I haven't burnt them." Sherlock replied and he observed that Lestrade realized what he meant by that.

"So you will not forgive us?" Lestrade said pleadingly.

"It is not a question of forgiveness." Sherlock replied. "I had quite some time to think about everything. I can understand your anger, I can understand why John is even more angry with me. I expected that. Well, I expected some anger, not this kind of anger." Sherlock paused for a moment. "So it is not a question of forgiveness. It is a question of trust. And even more so it is a question of what is reasonable. I realized that I cannot resume my old life. I will never get back what I had before I walked up on that roof, before Moriarty started his perfidious game with me. You all moved on and quite honestly I am not the man I have been anymore. Those two years changed me. They changed everything. Yes, when I came back I had the idea, the hope that I could just pick things up where I left them. But that was wrong. It was wishful thinking. And it brought me into this damn hospital bed. So now it is time to move on."

"Without us?" Lestrade asked sadly. It sounded like a question, but it was more of a statement.

"You will always be part of my life. You and John have been a vital part of my life in the past. But that is the past and" Sherlock stopped. He didn't want to justify his decision any longer.

Silence lingered in the room.

Lestrade nodded. "Then I will better leave now."

Sherlock looked at him, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to stop him. He said everything he wanted to say. Lestrade got up from his chair and went for the door.

"I wish you all the best for the future. Maybe one day we can look back at this without anger and disappointment and make a fresh start." Lestrade said, his hand already at the door handle.

"Yes, maybe." Sherlock replied. He managed a small smile.

When Lestrade had left, Sherlock leaned back. Now he had put an end to the past few years. Today the future started. A fresh start, into a different life, leaving behind what kept him alive over the last two years and what had nearly killed him. He felt hollow and numb, but also relieved and strangely free.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 - Epilog**

He was surprised. He instantly deduced that it must be an invitation, a wedding invitation. The expensive paper, the unusual format, the neat handwriting of the address, not a handwriting he knew, but rather from a professional writer.

He didn't expected to be invited to John's wedding. After their encounter in the hospital John had contacted him several times. Sherlock had answered, curt but friendly. He didn't see any use in the display of overt emotions. There was a tension between them, but Sherlock didn't feel the need to resolve it. For him John was the past. In his mind palace he had closed the door to John's room and he only opened it a tiny crack to store the messages they exchanged every now and then.

He needed to talk to Molly about the wedding invitation so went out and hailed a cab to St. Barth's. He visited her regularly, not only at the morgue, but also in her flat. After his time in hospital he liked to see her and he missed her on the days when he didn't see her. It was a strange relationship. He made it clear to her very early that he wasn't boyfriend material, that she couldn't expect a normal relationship, not only because he wasn't quite sure if he would be able to do it normally anyway, but also because his new job didn't agree well with a normal social life. He spent quite some time abroad, very often on short notice. And he didn't want her to be at risk if the nature of their relationship would be known. And of course he wasn't allowed to tell her about his work once he started, albeit Mycroft changed that by granting Molly a high security clearance. Mycroft was actually very fond of Molly. The time they both worried for Sherlock had brought them together. Sherlock liked that. It made things easier. But he still wasn't good with emotions, but the way both relationships, that with Molly and that with his brother, have developed was something he neither expected nor could have wished for. But he liked it the way it was.

He saw Molly sitting in her small office, the door to the hall wide open.

"Hello, sunshine." Sherlock whispered with a smile. He was still confused every time he used a nickname without thinking. It was just something that had developed. It just happened.

Molly looked up as he closed the door behind him and locked it. She got up, slung her arms around him and they kissed. That was also something that Sherlock never anticipated either. He would have never thought that he would like kissing her, but he actually very much liked kissing Molly.

When they finally broke apart he smiled at her.

"I've got an invitation." He said.

"To John's wedding." Molly interrupted him. "Me too. And Mrs. Hudson as well. She called me just five minutes ago. She also send you a message."

Sherlock took out his phone and confirmed Molly's statement with a nod.

"Will you go?" Molly asked.

"I think so." Sherlock answered. "I don't know why, but it seems the right thing to do."

"Yeah. I guess it is." Molly replied. "And it might be fun."

"Fun?" Sherlock frowned. "I don't consider weddings fun."

Molly laughed.

"But if we go." Sherlock resumed. "If we go we need to pretend not to be a couple. It would be too dangerous to display our connection at such an event."

"We are a couple?" Molly teased laughingly.

Sherlock smirked. "Don't make me say it, Molly Hooper."

"Oh, but I like to hear it. It sounds so unique in your voice."

"Okay, but just once." Sherlock stated seriously. "I love you." He leaned down to kiss her "Satisfied?"

"A bit" She teased again. "But we will dance at the wedding, at least once or twice."

"Agreed." Sherlock said "So I will reply to John that I will attend alone."

"And I will do the same." Molly added smiling.

"Of course I don't know if I have to work then. I mean it is still four month until that date." Sherlock said.

"Well, you can still cancel then if you need to." Molly replied.

Sherlock nodded. Yes, he wanted to attend the wedding. He wanted to see that John had moved on and that he was happy. He liked Mary, even if he had only met her once. It would be strange to pretend that he and Molly were just old friends but then they did that all the time when they were not alone. He would be fine. He had moved on.

* * *

**_Note:_**

**_So this is the end of my first fan fic. I hope you enjoyed it._**

**_I must admit that I feel a bit guilty when thinking about how this story ended. So I already have an idea for a sequel, that will force Sherlock and John a bit closer together again. I just don't know when I will find the time to write it._**


End file.
